The sound of waves, people, machinery, steam... It seems this world has always been like this, the ceaseless noise blending together. The Plague Doctor does not find it disturbing; instead, it feels like the breath of life, a world full of vigor, rather than lifeless and dull.
"Did you hold back your hand? Given your abilities, I had no chance to kill you... even if it was just one of your many bodies."
The Plague Doctor looked towards the northern intersection of sea and sky, beneath his brown coat were dense protrusions. As Secret Blood surged through him, his Self-Healing accelerated, and the empty sleeves were starting to gain some support.
"I suppose so. How does it feel to kill me? Is there a sense of achievement?"
Lawrence sat on another chair, separated from the Plague Doctor by a small table. He still wore that pitch-black mask, seeming calm and unhurried.
The two sat together, in peace, like old friends who hadn't seen each other for a long time.
